


i'm dead if i can't count on you today

by challaudaku



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/challaudaku/pseuds/challaudaku
Summary: “Race,” Jack calls, looking over at him. Race looks up, taking his cigar out of his mouth. “You know Spot, you got Brooklyn.”
Relationships: Spot Conlon & Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	i'm dead if i can't count on you today

**Author's Note:**

> or, shay can't stop watching newsies.

“Race,” Jack calls, looking over at him. Race looks up, taking his cigar out of his mouth. “You know Spot, you got Brooklyn.”

Race can’t help it; he lets out a little snort of laughter. “Nah, I ain’t ‘got Brooklyn’,” he says with a wave of his hand. Jack frowns at him, and then turns to the other boys.

“Who wants Brooklyn?” he asks the crowd. No one replies. Race can even see Crutchie  _ play dead _ , and really? It’s just Brooklyn, he thinks.

Jack looks back over to Race, with a 'told-you-so' look, and Race tries to stare him down. He knows Spot, that’s true, but he doesn’t particularly want to recruit him.

“Fine,” Race says, taking off his hat and smacking Jack with it. Jack smiles at him and Race rolls his eyes.

He supposes he’s going to Brooklyn.

…

A couple of hours later, Race is standing in front of Spot and twenty of his ‘closest-friends’. He blows air out of his mouth, feeling all types of jittery. This is probably the first time he’s seen Spot in  _ months _ .

“Hey, Conlon,” Race says, brandishing his cigar at Spot. “You mind talking to me?  _ Alone _ ?” 

“Eh, for you? Sure,” Spot says, waving his guys away. They leave, although looking disgruntled, and then it’s just Race and Spot, alone.

It’s not the first time they’ve been alone.

“So, I hear you have a strike going on, huh?” Spot says, moving closer to Race and poking in him the chest.

“Of course ya already heard,” Race replies, rolling his eyes. “Ya wanna come?” he asks, holding out a hand.

Spot, after a second of hesitation, takes Race’s hand. “A strike, eh? It’s not the most romantic date you’ve asked me on, Tony,” he says.

The double blow hits Race hard. It’s one thing to call him by his  _ real _ name, but in reference to their failed relationship, one that Spot ended by simply ignoring Race for  _ months _ ? Ouch.

“Is that whatcha wants,  _ Sean _ ?” Race asks, raising an eyebrow. “A date?”

Spot shrugs, and it takes almost all of Race’s willpower to not roll his eyes. What the hell is  _ that _ supposed to mean?

“Will ya come, or what?” Race asks, tired of Spot dancing around the answer.

Spot pulls his hand back and turns a little bit away. “Nah, I’m good, Race.”

“Ya good?” Race asks, staring Spot down. “Well, we ain’t. We ain’t good, paying a fortune to live on the streets.”

“That’s life,” Spot replies. “Get over it. How do I know youse won’t fold when things get scary?”

“I don’t think you’re one to talk ‘bout folding when things are scary,” Race says, and the conversation stops being about the strike. 

“I like ya, Race,” Spot says, turning back around. “I do, but —”

“But ya don’t wanna die for it,” Race says, holding up his hands. “I get it, I do,” he replies, sticking his cigar in his mouth. “I just…” he mumbles around his cigar, shrugging and looking down.

He glances up, and there’s an expression on his face that makes Race pause. It takes a second for him to realize that it’s  _ guilt _ . That doesn’t seem quite right.

“Maybe just have a little faith,” Race says finally, feeling a little dejected.

“In youse?” Spot asks, waving a hand outwards. “Or in  _ us _ ?” Spot gestures between the two of them, and Race shrugs.

“In both,” he says, as if everything is that simple. He wishes it could be.

There’s three moments of silence, of them looking at each other, waiting.

And then Spot holds out his hand.

Race takes it.


End file.
